Dangerous Consort
by 666TheWitch666
Summary: Someone is watching Ezio. Florence has no CSI. Florence has no "detectives". Instead, Florence has Sebasino. But is there more to him than meets the eye?
1. Chapter 1

Hey, I haven't written anything on here in a long, long, long time. That doesn't mean I haven't been writing, though.

I recently tried this game. I absolutely love it. I was thinking about it while I was driving (my most creative time), and this idea started to form in bits and pieces. There was no getting away from it. It had to be written. So here it is, the lovechild of my own mind, a bit of Shakespearian influence, and Assassin's creed 2. Enjoy! Oh, and for all of you people hoping for Yaio, you will be disappointed. There, I said it.

On a related note, I guarantee the story will still be, shall we say, interesting?

* * *

Italy, Florence. The sun for which the country is famous beats down upon the streets. The narrow walkways are teeming with people, going about their daily lives. Happy, chatting, quarreling and gossiping, oblivious. Guards, baking in their various armored uniforms, examine a new corpse.

"What do you think, Sebasino? Is it another?" A lightly armored man asks, turning the head of the corpse to reveal a gaping neck wound.

"About that, I think there is no doubt." One who could only be Sebasino replies tersely, shaking his helmeted head. What Sebasino lacks in muscle mass, he more than makes up for in agility, and intelligence. Lacking official investigators, this individual represented the closest thing to a detective Florence could boast of. Sebasino had replaced his father on the guard after the man's death, appearing out of nowhere, it seemed. No one had known of Gregorio's son. The boy had proved himself more than capable; however, identifying and capturing thieves and murderers long after others had given up.

Few knew his true age, but one thing was certain; he was not long into manhood. His voice and build alone were evidence of that.

"If it is the same killer, that makes twenty-two murders that we know of, just this week alone." A third adds. "And most are guards, or witnesses to crimes."

"There is a pattern, this much is obvious. He uses the rooftops, the streets, the waterway, and always he is a step ahead. We must know his thoughts, to put an end to him. We must think. What breaks the pattern?" Sebasino says, more to himself than the others.

"There was the man at the art showing, he was neither guard nor witness." The first guard says slowly.

"That one made sense in another way, though, if you consider what we have found out. Few disagree as to the identity of our killer. The murdered man proclaimed our assassin's family guilty of treason. The question then becomes; why is he still killing?" Sebasino responds. His face is troubled, deep in thought. A muffled shout is heard above and down the street, followed by a dull 'wumph'.

All three guards leap up, running in the direction of the sound. In the street lay a new body, an archer, the wounds still bleeding fresh. While the other two stared blankly at the corpse, Sebasino looked up, at just the right moment. A man in white distinctly leaped overhead. The chase was on.

Rather than yelling, which would have alerted the man he chased, he quietly climbed a ladder to the roof. His target was running swiftly, leaping between buildings and racing across narrow ropes. Sebasino followed at a distance, watching grimly as Ezio is spotted by a roof guard. The guard is pulled into a tight embrace, and released. Slowly, he collapses. Slowly, the man falls from the roof. Sebasino said a quiet prayer for the family of the dead man, as he continues his pursuit of the killer. At last, the white cowl drops to street level again. Sebasino races to catch up, nearly falling more than once. He curses, certain that he would lose his quarry. At the edge of a roof, he looks down. There, sticking out like a big white thumb, he spots Ezio slowly walking among a group of monks right past four guards standing on high alert, all looking at a sign with a picture of the killer's face. The guards wave at the passing monks. Idiots.

Sebasino climbs down from the building, and starts a slow motion pursuit of his target. He uses the same tactics, walking with groups of people, staying out of direct line of sight. Ezio leaves his monks abruptly, turning down a narrow side street. Sebasino comes to that same street, and slows to a halt. A dead end, and there is no one there. Damn, he must have taken to the rooftops again. A tiny voice in Sebasino's head shouted 'what are you doing? You can follow him all day, but if you catch him, it is you who will be sorry!'

'I'm studying him, his patterns, I'm finding where he sleeps, who he knows.' He argued back silently.

While in thought, Sebasino had walked further down the dead end street.

Suddenly, he froze, his heart beating frantically in his chest, a sentiment of impending doom sending shocks to the very tips of his fingers. His hand reached for his sword, but never made it. A weight shoved him sideways, twisting him at the same time. His helm was wrenched off. The side of his face hit the wall first, momentarily stunning him. The cold steel that chilled his throat brought him back to his senses. He was pressed helplessly to the stone, a knee in his back, and an arm holding his shoulders.

"You are following me. Why?" Ezio asked in a tone that left no doubt what would happen, if the answer was the wrong one.

"To protect the city." Sebasino responded as best he could, as he tried to move his throat as little as possible.

"I don't believe you. These men who guard Florence, they are easily fooled, easily lost. Who sent you?"

"I am telling the truth, no one sent me, there is nothing else I can say." Sebasino bit his lip, a tear running down his cheek. His black hair was coming free of the tight bonds that held it in his helm, falling across his beardless face. Sebasino was certain of one thing. He was going to die, just like the others.

He felt a tug at his waist, as his sword was pulled free of its scabbard. 'So he will kill me with my own sword?' Sebasino thought.

Suddenly, the weight holding him in place vanished. Common sense insisted that he stay where he was, but his own curiosity trumped common sense. He spun around, just in time to catch a last glimpse of a boot slipping out of sight overhead. Shaken and unarmed, Sebasino set out to make his report, and go home.

* * *

"What a nightmare." Sebasino muttered to himself, as he swung through his own bedroom window. He'd had to explain to his superiors how his sword had been lost, which led to a confession involving being completely overpowered by the most wanted criminal in the city, mockery by his peers for his lack of strength, so on and so forth.

Slowly, Sebasino removed the hair pins, allowing long, straight black hair to drop past the shoulders. Armor plating was easier to slide out of than unclip, particular because it was oversized on the body. A chest was pulled from under the bed, and into it went every piece of armor and uniform. The cool evening breeze from the open window caressed the skin, raising goosebumps. A sharp knock at the bedroom door interrupted the serene moment.

"Violia! Have you been in there reading all day long? Its time you came down to eat something!" Violia looked at her reflection in an expensive glass mirror. There was no hiding the bruises. Frantically she applied makeup, but the dark purple just seemed to spread.

"I'll be right down! I was out earlier, though, you shouldn't worry yourself so!"She shouted. It was her mother in law on the other side of the door, a noble and a very assertive woman. Carmilla was her name.

"If you are not present at the table in ten minutes, I will send my son to get you. This is promise!"

Violia hastily plucked a random dress from her closet and yanked it over her head, back to front. She twisted it around, and with astonishing flexibility laced it together. Not the one she would normally have chosen; her breasts were barely half covered. One of the many gifts from her new husband. The marriage had been one of necessity; she would have been hard pressed to avoid the brothels otherwise. The death of her father had forced her hand. She looked once more into the mirror. Her face and shoulder were visibly blue and black. She sighed. How could she possibly explain this?

Resigned, she opened the door, to find her husband standing on the other side, one hand raised to knock. He took one look at her and froze. His countenance took on a look of outrage.

"Who has done this to you, my love? When I find the man responsible for damaging my precious flower…"

Violia had a moment's amusement picturing Romano trying to fight Ezio.

"It was no one, just a horse, and a wall. It escaped it's handlers, and hit me a glancing blow. I was in the market, buying new paper, you know, for my writing."

"ah, yes, yes. One of these days, you will have to show me what you spend so much time working at alone up there. But for now you come, mother insists. We will go to the doctor first thing tomorrow for your poor face." Romano gently pulled her arm, urging her downstairs. He really wasn't a bad man, he was sweet, actually. She truly wished she could love him. She braced herself to endure another dinner, with god know which official. She always wore her helm when she was "out" just in case dearest mummy invited any of the watch to dine. Today it was some important rich man. He wore a curious cross, so she could only assume he was religious.

"Ah, yes, I was leaving for Venice in the morning. Of course, though lovely, Venice is not Florence. One cannot escape the smell of the canals."

Viola sighed deeply, and dove into the heaving, writhing battle that was politics.

* * *

There, did you enjoy? R&R, please, I'd love some feedback. There will be future chapters. Soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry about the wait, I had this done earlier, but my internet has been… temperamental of late. Thanks to everyone who like this enough to watch it, and to the one person who reviewed! I'm not sure what exactly was unclear, but it should become apparent in this chapter. For anyone who's confused, Violia=Sebasino. Oh, forgot this earlier, I don't own assassin's creed. Yay disclaimer and all its obviousness.

Still rated for later chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Another day, another series of murders. Five men had been found in a haystack, apparently killed at least a day previous. It was the smell that had alerted authorities.

Sebasino breathed in the stench; it became more bearable that way.

"The Assassin fled down that street." Sebasino pointed.

"It won't do us a lot of good, he's long gone by now. You can see, though, where the straw scattered."

"So what will we do?" A heavily armored man asked.

"We need to find him off guard, perhaps even force him to surrender. Do we know of anyone close to the family? Friends, servants, distant relations?" Sebasino asked

"Leonardo Da Vinci, a known friend of the family. Someone was sent to speak with him. They did have a maid, as well." A guard captain replied curtly.

"And what did we learn of Da Vinci?" Sebasino pressed.

"I don't believe the man we sent retuned with a report…"

Sebasino raised an eyebrow incredulously. "And no one found that at all suspicious? Nevermind, I will speak to him myself. Will someone competent please enquire about the maid? I want questions asked of neighbors, family foes, the servants belonging to other houses, everyone. Find out if she has another residence, or perhaps a brother or sister."

The surrounding guards shook their heads, clearly not about to take orders from one so low in status as Sebasino.

"Allow me to put this another way. The longer this Assassin remains on the streets, the more guards suffer sudden and unforeseen deaths. By guards, I include those present. Aid me in his capture, and the life you save may be your own." Sebasino said.

Needless to say, those present were greatly motivated when they set out to canvass the neighborhood.

"And I shall pay a visit to a certain painter." Sebasino said to no one.

It was a considerable distance to the Villa of Leonardo, but Sebasino did not resent the walk. Florence in summer is a beautiful thing, particularly to those that value her superb masonry and design. The churches, walkways, markets and cobbled streets never fail to delight the eyes. The people add to the scenery of Florence, rather than blocking it. Even the whores didn't particularly bother Sebasino today, perhaps because their brightly colored dresses and pleasant, inviting smiles were as cherubs sewn into the greater masterpiece that was the city. Sebasino felt a certain satisfaction when he thought of his place in that painting. Not one of the pretty damsels that blend so pointlessly with the flowers of the vine placed behind them, no, Sebasino was like the very brush of the painter itself, working to remove the imperfections, the flaws, in the ever changing whole.

Like the white blot, flitting about and never in the same place twice, the stain that spreads itself, piling the dead in some corner to be seen only by the skilled observer, leaving the piece not a thing of loveliness and beauty, but a work of horror and revulsion and lies.

Sebasino lost himself so deeply in thought, he almost passed the recessed door of Leonardo's home. It would be a shame if the great painter was truly guilty of hiding or aiding a murderer. He was such a valuable man. Of course, Florence possessed many great painters, worthy of boast.

He knocked on the door sharply, and listened to the sudden flurry of motion inside. Papers shifting about, a dull clunk as something heavy fell to the floor, and the rush of feet. The door opened halfway, a pleased look on the face of the painter; his expression abruptly fell to one of disappointment, and perhaps fear. Interesting. Sebasino shoved his booted foot in the door as it slammed shut, refusing to be shut out that easily.

"Leonardo Da Vinci, am I correct? I wish to speak with you, nothing more." Sebasino said assuringly through the crack in the door.

The door opened once again, a cautious Leonardo framed in the doorway.

"What is it you want?" Leonardo asked.

"I would like to ask some questions, that is all. The last man we sent to you must not have arrived, or perhaps he was attacked after he left you." Sebasino said.

"Perhaps, perhaps, these are dangerous times." Leonardo said quickly, his pleasant demeanor bordering on frantic. Guilty as sin. A shame.

"They are indeed. The times would be less dangerous, I think, if killers were not running loose and unpunished. It is a shame, isn't it, the way some individuals will hide, or even help the murderers and thieves? Such people certainly make my job more difficult." Sebasino laughs, though a cold eye remains trained on Leonardo.

The painter laughs as well, more loudly than entirely necessary.

"I understand you used to sell paintings to the Auditore family. You are aware of their recent misfortune?" Sebasino asks, studying Leonardo.

"I have heard things, but I was not involved with that family, beyond business." Leonardo responds, his focus sliding off to the side.

"Ah. I do have a few more questions, do you think we could go inside? It is not polite to keep a man standing on the doorstep."

"Now is not a good time, you see I have a new painting, if another sees it before it is complete, ah, I do not believe I will have the heart to finish it."

"He's in there, is he not?" Sebasino guesses shrewdly.

Leonardo's face pales. "I'm afraid I don't know who…"

Sebasino pushes Da Vinci aside, and enters the cluttered workshop. Leonardo follows, protesting vigorously. This was stupid, Sebasino was well aware of that. If Ezio really was in here, the guard wouldn't have a chance. Luck was on his side, however. The room was empty of people. There had to be a reason for Leonardo's continued demands that he leave. Sebasino scanned the walls, and the desk, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Even the bodies in the back were to be expected of the brilliant anatomist. However, a hastily shut book stood out for some reason. Perhaps it was the bits of paper shoved randomly between the pages, or more likely the nervous way Leonardo's eyes flicked to it more often than was normal. Casually, Sebasino lifted the cover. A cloud of dust rose as Leonardo slammed his hand on it, closing it abruptly.

"Private." Leonardo said.

"Not from me." Sebasino responded, drawing his replacement sword halfway, a silent threat.

Leonardo stepped back, his hands raised and empty.

Sebasino flipped the book open. Drawings of inventions, from a basket attached to a curling screw to a few things Sebasino couldn't even identify. He came across one illustration that was easily identified, however. It appeared to be a blade, that retracted into a wrist brace. The size and shape of the blade, as well as a vivid mental picture of how one would use such a weapon rung very familiar to Sebasino.

"Thank you, Leonardo. You have been very accommodating. You will be hearing from me again; don't leave the city." Sebasino closed the book and dipped in a slight bow to Leonardo. As he left he squinted up, surveying the roofs. No assassin in sight, but that didn't have to mean anything.

Sebasino wound through the streets with extreme caution. He stayed near crowds, avoided alleys or narrow roads. It was his goal to remain always in the very center of a wide way.

He sat, directly in the middle of a wide Piazza, to await news from his investigators. He feared for them, because clearly Ezio had not been at Leonardo's. One by one he spotted them, and gestured grandly to call them over. It became known in bits and pieces that the Maid's sister happened to own the largest brothel in the city. Where better to hide than there? This would also solve the mystery of the disappearance all female members of the household had made. If Ezio slept in such a place, he could be sure that someone was always awake, no one respected the law, and he would have no shortage of pleasant company, either. They would conduct a raid of the brothel. When, though, that was the question. The assassin acted both by day and by night. While thinking, Sebasino stared absently across the Piazza. It took him a moment to notice someone looking back. He jumped to his feet in shock when his mind finally caught up with his eyes.

"You!" He cried stupidly.

A group of people walked past, and he was gone. It was just that quick. Sebasino approached the spot; perhaps there was some sign or message left. A spatter of blood that indicated injury, perhaps even a blood trail, water dripped from clothes, anything. He pushed through the crowds, trying to travel as straight as possible. Finally, he reached the exact place where the assassin had been. He scanned the ground, and, like a bright red arrow from God shone a crimson drop of fluid. There was more than one, and they followed a line. Pulled on by the clues, the promise of a puzzle solved, Sebasino carefully followed the trail. He was barely aware where it was taking him. He was overtaken by a strong sense of Déjà vu when the blood drops ran out, and he was standing alone in a dark alley. The walls were high and pressed in threateningly close. Above they crisscrossed with wooden beams. Eyes fixed upward, sword drawn, he tried to back out of the alley. He didn't trust the corner ahead any more than the rooftops above. Only back, where the light shone bright and people chatted and laughed, was there any hope of safety.

Consequently, Sebasino was horribly surprised when he backed into something solid. Something solid that chucked darkly, and wrenched his sword from his weakened grip. Cloth shifted audibly as the killer caught the unarmed guard in an inescapable grip, holding him from behind.

Sebasino had a moment of hope; perhaps the assassin was injured. The blood surely meant… but no, it was obviously a trap. The blood probably came from a dagger, or some poor soul stabbed and walked through this ally for the purpose.

Quietly whispered in his ear, the killer said "If you threaten Leonardo, or anyone connected to me, you will regret it to the end of your days. I want you to stop the attack of the women's house. I want you to allow Leonardo to leave the city in peace."

Ezio twisted Sebasino around and pinned him to the wall again. The whole situation was nightmarishly familiar, but now Sebasino was forced to face the threat, forced to look up at the shadowed eyes that threatened his life. There was another element, too, one that sent a wave of fear a man wouldn't feel in this situation. The way Ezio pressed his body to Violia, though necessary to prevent movement, also seemed distinctly sexual. The woman hiding in a man's shell quivered. She looked down, away from his eyes, and couldn't help but see the blade at his waist, red with blood and no longer dripping, but clearly used very recently to fatal effect.

He leaned close, and whispered "Don't think you can hide; I know where you live."

The implications jarred her. Perhaps he was bluffing. He had to be. But the way he was holding her… the level of contact no longer seemed so necessary. Did his leg really have to be just there? She broke out into a cold sweat.

To her relief, he let her go. He threw her sword at her feet, and stood just feet away, wearing a smug grin that she longed to swat off. Or wipe from his face another way, with the sharp end of her sword. He backed away slowly, still smiling, and leaped straight up, catching hold of a beam. He jumped to another, and was soon out of sight. A moment later she heard someone cry "It's hi-".

The call was not repeated, nor answered. Violia thanked God and Fate and anything else in existence that she was alive.

Sebasiano picked his blade from the street and smoothly slid it into its sheath. What was he going to do?

Sebasiano climbed through his window early that day, and shut it firmly behind. She'd be damned if she was going to let that assassin watch her change. Assuming he wasn't bluffing. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. Still, she closed her blinds while hiding her armor and dressing. She spent time fabricating some writing, mostly stupid poems, so she would have something to show for the time in her private room. She tired of it quickly, though.

Violia rose from her desk with a sigh. She had to get out.

* * *

Ok, any thought, comments, questions, let me know, ok? I have no problems with revising chapters; might make some changes to the first one, in fact, but I need the feedback to develop.

Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

I wasn't terribly pleased with my last chapter. Turns out I write better when I pen it out first. His chapter should be much more… vivid.

* * *

Ch 3

Violia disliked walking through the market openly. The looks men gave her had little in common with the wary respect shown to a city guard. She knew they kept their distance only because her husband was by her side, and even then it was a tentative situation. He was a graceful man, slender with the fingers of a musician and the step of a dancer. Certainly not someone others feared to cross. Romano was not the sort of man she would have chosen for herself, had fate given her the time and leisure to find another.

She was young, and beautiful. She knew that. It was fortunate that in Florence, like Venice, it was fashionable for boys to be as beautiful as girls. Otherwise, she might have found her disguise more difficult to accomplish. If a young man was sweet faced, smooth voiced, graceful and soft, so much the better to many. There was a double side to this fashion, of course. Young boys and men were bought and sold in slave trades and brothels with alarming frequency.

None of that really mattered this evening, however. It was a woman, Violia, who shopped the market in the fading orange light of another dying day, not Sebasino. Violia, in her full length dress of the most expensive cloths, stood patiently to the side as Romano spoke with a merchant of cloth, debating the merits of this or that piece, haggling over prices. Her husband's voice was honey sweet and smooth; he was almost the very image of the man she pretended to be. She nodded or made small sounds of agreement each time he addressed her, whatever he needed or expected. Her mind lingered on the cooling air, the faint breeze that stirred at the end of the day. Shopping was truly not one of her favored pastimes, but it was exquisite to be out and away from the house, and not hiding behind a uniform.

A sight caught her eye from across the street, drawing her away from her husband. A large merchant with heavy quivering jowls and a gut that threatened to snap his fancy buttons clean from his lacy frock stood behind a display of keen and beautiful weapons of exceptional design. Two caught her eye particularly, a long thin rapier, and a splendid yet easily concealed dagger with a whale bone hilt, carved to resemble a magnificent beast. Its blade appeared wickedly sharp. She felt a cool delight stir in her chest at the very sight of them. The merchant had been thus far ignoring her, mistaking her interest for idle curiosity. He must have caught the look of longing in her eyes, however.

It was not difficult to persuade the eager merchant to accept her coins, and only a marginally greater challenge to make him hold the larger sword for another, her cousin Sebasino, to fetch for her at a later date. The dagger she took right away, wrapped safely in brown paper packaging and a precise leather sheath. It simply wouldn't do to be caught unarmed and off guard just now.

With the comfortable weight of her new purchase, she looked about for Romano. At first she didn't see him; he wasn't speaking with the clothier any longer. She spotted him moments later, talking in an animated way with much gesturing of his long, supple hands. She couldn't see whom he was talking to; a group of Franciscans in their brown robes blocked her sight. Gentle followers of St. Francis, it was difficult to find any place in the city not populated by monks. Each had his cell in the city's churches and monasteries, in some cases painted lavishly to the very walls of the rooms where the monks sleep.

With a confident step she approached, circling the monks. When she passed them, she came to a sudden halt. Too late, though. He was looking right at her, through the corner of his eye just visible beneath his hood. Her heart skipped a beat, but made up for that wasted moment quickly with a frantic fluttering that threatened to escape her chest and fly free over the rooftops.

Poor, innocent Romano, stupid fool, of course he paid no mind to wanted posters. He would never give ear to the rumors and official announcement that would have made the man he spoke to as recognizable as his own reflection. Ezio Auditore Di Firenze was keeping up the steady flow of conversation, but it was Violia's eyes he met, not Romano's. The trace of a mocking smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth had nothing to do with the topic of discussion. It took a moment for her naive husband to notice that he had lost his new friend's attention. He followed Ezio's gaze, turning his head, his whole visage lighting up when he saw her. "Ah, and this is my wife, Violia, darling I was just speaking to this man, he tells me he is a banker. I have been thinking of moving my investments. Is something wrong, my love?"

Violia did her best to compose herself. She knew her eyes must be wide as saucers, her face pale, her whole body stiff and ready to run or fight. She breathed deeply, tried to calm herself; No easy feat with the assassin the entire city was looking for not two feet from her husband. It would take just a second, she knew, if Ezio had wanted Romano dead. This was a threat, if anything was. Ezio was showing her just how easy it would be, how easy he could find her and kill those close to her. Leave poor Romano in the dirt, eyes not comprehending as the life blood drained from his face, just like… no, she would not think of it, her father's death had nothing to do with this.

She tried to force her face into a smile. It would take a grand performance to escape this confrontation without blood flow.

"No, nothing wrong. I thought I recognized him, for a moment. I was mistaken." Violia said, haltingly at first, but catching the flow of her words and following the charade smoothly through.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I feel that we have met before, bella donna." Ezio said with a knowing smile.

"We are all Florentines; it stands to reason that paths have crossed." Romano put in pleasantly.

"Yes, though perhaps now is not the best time to be crossing paths with strangers in Florence. So many murders and the killer walks among us." Violia said pointedly.

"It is not safe to be anyone anymore, it seems. Just this afternoon a house of women was invaded by the city guard. The outcome was violent and brutish. They let anyone enter the service of the guard these days, so matter how corrupt, or otherwise unsuited for the position." Ezio said, speaking now to Violia, as if Romano wasn't there.

"I am certain they had good reason." Romano said.

"Just as I am certain they had equally good reason not to." Ezio countered, the retort washing over Romano, but hitting Violia full in the face. What would he do in revenge, then? Was he just torturing her before he convinced Romano to follow him into some private ally or corner, there to put an end to one undeserving and innocent.

"I merely hope no innocents suffer or die in these greater conflicts, in perception of false attachment." Violia's words came out, twisted and confusing, but clear enough to the clever killer. His eyes flicking between herself and Romano, the space between them and the possible meaning of her words told her that he understood perfectly. Killing her husband would wound her; it's true, but only to the same extent as the death of a casual friend, or working acquaintance. She couldn't have known that Ezio had no real intent to kill in this situation either way.

"Innocents have a habit of meeting death in the face of injustice. Families can be torn apart, killed, for a single lie. Few know that better than I." Ezio said grimly.

Romano was at this point politely confused. Clearly Violia knew this banker better than she had implied. Who was he then? A former lover? Romano sincerely hoped not. This was not a man he wanted to compare himself to. Still, her reaction seeing them talking… what other explanation could there be?

"Yes, you would know all about such things, wouldn't you?" Violia said with a hint of a smile. This was all incredibly dangerous, but in a way she was enjoying it. Ezio was someone she could love to hate. It would be so delicious when she finally caught him, if she was actually there as he was escorted to prison. Perhaps Sebasino could be the very one to perform the arrest, she mused. She thought of herself as another entity almost, when she put on a man's clothes.

Ezio bowed then, sweeping his arm across his body in an exaggerated gesture. "Saluto!" He said. "I have other business to attend to."

"How can I reach you, to further discuss investment in your bank?" Romano asked Ezio's retreating back.

"No worries, I know where you live." Ezio replied, and with a final laugh, he vanished into the crowd.

Upon arriving home, Violia retreated to her room. She closed the window tight, and drew the blinds shut. She knew her husband slept in the room they were meant to share, but she was as yet an unclaimed bride, and intended to stay that way for some time. Her husband thought he understood her feelings, and thus far respected her wishes. There would come a time when he would demand what a wife owed her husband, she knew, but she would delay that as long as she could. Her mother in law continued to hint at a desire for grandchildren, but again, there was a temporary peace. Violia stretched in the half-light of the candles that illuminated her room. Expensive beeswax, to a one. The flames burned cleanly and honey yellow, giving of a warm, comforting scent. The servants had drawn a bath for her, and she found herself truly grateful. The stress of the day told in stiff muscles and a certain unclean clammy feeling. She escaped from the folds of her dress, reveling in the freedom of her limbs. The water of the bath was faintly scented, as always. She tested its temperature with her hand, and found it to be hot, but sweetly so, not quite at the point that would heat her body too swiftly and drive her from her enjoyment prematurely.

She stepped into the tub, first one long, slender leg, then the other. She settled herself, sinking down in the steaming basin, letting her hair fan out in a halo around her, as the water rose to half cover her breasts. Trickles of condensation ran down her neck, as the day lifted from her. Her knees broke the water line, and she stretched her legs as well as she could, one after the other. With a sharp blade she removed the slight growth of hair from her legs, running her hands in the wake of the blade to verify the smoothness. Her small stomach distorted and rippled in the water each time she moved, as soft waves lapped at the upper curve of her breasts. With a fine soap she washed herself thoroughly, sinking down into sweet warmth and serenity. In the sanctum of her thoughts she brought her foe, her assassin, here with her. In her mind she saw him, finely muscled as she knew he must be, in her fantasy wearing only his pants as he kneeled by her bath, and smoothed the soap over her back, her shoulders, that now familiar smirk across his face as he cupped her breasts…

Her fantasy shattered as she shook her head. What was the matter with her? She'd just been thinking about a merciless killer in ways that should have terrified her, the thought of him here with her now… Good, in reality the idea properly terrified her. Yet, there was some small wisp of desire that took hold of the healthy fear feeling, and frothed it up into something much more dangerous. A heady thrill, that gripped her through her chest, and started a faint pulse between her legs in time with the beat of her heart. She had to get out of this bath. The water must be hotter than she'd thought; clearly it was frying her brain. She rose and stepped out, searching the room for a towel to halt the small rivers that flowed down her body, fed by the steam in the air and the wetness of her hair.

There, near a small basin meant for the washing of the face and hands, sat neatly folded soft towels place there for her use. She smiled; the cooler air was already starting to chill her, soaked as she was. She looked about the room again, waiting a few moments longer to make the towels seem all the sweeter. Her bed would be better, too, if she wanted warmth as she sank into its embracing folds. A faint outline made her pause, however. She wasn't sure what she was seeing in the shadows, against the white backdrop of her wall. She narrowed her eyes to pierce the gloom, all too aware of the way the candlelight illuminated her, throwing her curves into stark contrast of light and dark. Ah, a shift, motion from the hidden form. She stepped further from the light, forgetting her nakedness for the moment, trying to let her eyes adjust to see, and slowly it became clear that…

"oh" She said aloud, emotions constricting her throat, preventing her from uttering another word.

"Oh." Ezio agreed, clearly leaning back against her wall, nearly hidden in the fold of a draped fabric.

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So, next chapter should be… interesting. Whatever happens. I'm not making promises here, people.

I like how this chapter came out. I don't know if I'm rushing things a bit, or if I've developed the characters as much as I should have by this point. Ah well, reviews are much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

I know, Its been a while. I have an excuse, though!

I played prototype. Alex Mercer consumed my muse, and then ran off up a building with it.

I got it back though, a review today served as a much needed kick in the pants to get this story down from the dusty "work in progress" shelf.

My other excuse, my novel, has also been taking off in my head. Don't you just love it when the ideas just flow, mind to hands to screen (or paper)?

Anyway, this chapter deserves its rating. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I do not own assassins creed. Hence the FANFICTION website. I do own my OCs.

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**Chapter 4**

Ezio smiled at her and winked. "My, but you are the loveliest of the city's defenders. If all guards looked as you do, more men would turn to crime."

Violia flushed scarlet, snatching up a towel and wrapping it about herself, pondering the quirk of human instinct that causes us to feel safer when clothed. A thin towel would do nothing to stop a blade, but she knew that if she were wearing it, she could deal with this situation rationally. Her eyes darted to the box containing her dagger, and the chest beneath her bed that concealed her sword, though her sight never strayed from the threat for more than an instant. She knew she could never reach them in time.

Ezio watched her, knowing full well what she was thinking. He pushed himself from his relaxed position and took a few casual steps forward, placing himself in the centre of the room. His thought lingered on the bed, but the ice-cold eyes of this unusual female watching him with an intensity and focus that bordered on unsettling quickly quashed his hopes to a wistful maybe.

Violia knew she had to say something, anything, but her tongue seemed to have gone numb. She masked her fear with a cool aplomb that had served her well in the past. Slowly, she regained control of herself. "Tell me why you are here, or leave."

Ezio raised a single eyebrow. "You know why I'm here." He paused, looked her up and down in a clearly appraising manner. "I want to keep you out of my business. You do not give up easily, it would appear. I thought that perhaps a house call could prove constructive."

Violia clutched her towel more tightly around herself. She moved forward, but circled, bringing herself closer to her blade. "I have no intention to let you continue murdering the city guard and respected officials."

"I will avenge my family. Those responsible for their deaths... and those who stand in my way... will die." Ezio said, circling her as he spoke, placing himself more or less between her and her knife, without appearing to do so intentionally. "You, unfortunately, fit into one of those categories." He leaned on the very table her knife was on.

Violia felt her throat constrict. So he meant to kill her... and her best chance at defending herself was less than a foot away from him. She had no chance, he'd killed people wearing full armour on high alert, he's battled five people at once and won. Unless... Her brain was spinning with possibilities, working remarkably clearly, under just the right amount of stress. She could get that knife, and she could kill him. here, and now. It would just require some acting on her part.

Violia smiled at Ezio, a half smile full of mischief. She dropped her towel. With satisfaction, she watched the assassin's eyes open wider with pleased surprise.

"What could I do, to persuade you to let me live?" She asked, licking her lips. She felt a little ridiculous, surely he would call her bluff. She walked toward him directly, pressed herself to him, put her arms around his waist.

"I would accept a halt on all investigations..." He said coyly, "But I think we could work out a better deal."

"Indeed, I think we could." Violia replied, licking his neck.

He lowered his head to hers, kissing her deeply, one of his hands clasping her bare ass and pulling her sharply to him. She could feel a growing form beneath his layers of clothing, different from the bottles and weapons he concealed. Fear spiked in her, dread of the unknown, but she kept a hold of herself. She snaked one hand behind his back, feeling around on the table while she had him distracted. She felt him smirk against her lips. Was she doing something wrong? She redoubled her efforts, her free hand, the one that wasn't searching for cold steel, slid up the inside of his thigh, over the still growing heat that she knew ached for her.

He shuddered and gasped, at the very moment her hand found what it sought. His blade in one hand... hers in another. She clasped the hilt with a firm certainly, and drove it with the full force of her will at his unprotected back. Her hope soared... and shattered in an instant. A strong hand clasped her wrist. Ezio broke off the kiss and shook his head at her, though he was still smiling. He twisted her wrist expertly, forcing her to cry out and drop the weapon harmlessly to the floor.

"Really, did you think that would work?" He mocked her. He took control, walking forward, driving her toward the bed. He kept his grip on her wrist. She fell over backward when the edge of the bed caught the backs of her knees, and he fell on top of her.

The scent of him, the weight of him, his overwhelming presence... Viloia wasn't thinking clearly anymore. As with her daydream, the danger and sheer forbidden quality intoxicated her, made her blood burn. She kissed him again, to get back that remembered taste. He was surprised, but understandably pleased. It took him a surprisingly short time to get his complex belt off, particularly considering that he didn't stop kissing her to do it. He'd had many women, but he'd never wanted one quite this much. His shirts came off even faster, his passion increased considerably when she helped him.

The specks of blood on his white clothing almost brought her to her senses, but at that moment his hand reached between her legs, and the sheer sensation wiped her mind blank of thought. She bit his shoulder, not from anger, but because she was overwhelmed, and sought something solid she could hold onto. He gasped; this was a pain he enjoyed. He wiggled out of his pants, as naked as she was. The sight of his muscled, streamlined body was fuel on a fire that was already raging out of control. She knew she would burn, cook from the inside out, yet she only wanted the fire to get hotter. Her world split in two as her drove himself into her, the flames white-hot and radiating from their joined parts outward, and when he began to pump, in and out, she thought she would die.

It went on and on, each new wave of pleasure outdone by the next, so that she moaned and tossed beneath him, trying to get closer, though there was no way for two human beings to be nearer to each other than Violia and Ezio were at that moment. She was only dimly aware that her hands clawed at his back, that her hips bucked beneath him, and as a pinnacle approached, her whole world retracted from sight, sound, her limbs no longer existed, nothing existed but the moment of perfect, exquisite pleasure.

It washed through her, receding like a lapping tide, as he shuddered, releasing his seed within her. Ezio breathed deeply. He could see that she was utterly limp, and would likely be making no further attempts to kill him tonight, yet he had to be sure. As he dressed, he kept a close eye on her. She appeared to be asleep. Still, he didn't turn his back on her until he dropped from her open window into the night.


End file.
